


(I Know You) By Heart

by tessdebelle



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Heart Attacks, Medical Procedures, heart failure, medical drama
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-13
Updated: 2020-01-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:13:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22246135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tessdebelle/pseuds/tessdebelle
Summary: How long does he have until death greets him at the door? For Melinda May, she hopes forever. AU.
Relationships: Phil Coulson/Melinda May
Comments: 14
Kudos: 64





	1. Prologue

Vials of blood and other substances produced by the human body sat behind Melinda's eyes, even now that she'd gotten home from work. The monotony of the materials lab became her daily routine, and although it was boring, it was functional and that felt good. Or, at least, she didn't have much else to compare it to. Filling in data, reporting on types and giving everything a code, helped her to deal. Everything could go in its own little box and had its place, and if it didn't have its place, there was usually something wrong with what she was given - not with Melinda herself.

At home, things were much the same - she didn't have a lot of possessions, and everything that she did own was neat and tidy, put away with clean edges. Her clothes were hung in the same place, all of which were black or a variant of grey, and the bed was almost always made. Having the routine of making her bed helped when she woke up in the midst of a nightmare and needed something to do. Even the small workout area she'd built in what should have been a sitting room was arranged so that everything had its place, with a station for her boxing gloves, a sleek bottle for water, and a training mat that she cleaned regularly. It was just easier that way. The computer that she tapped on now, fingers hitting the keys with a satisfying click, held the same cleanliness; although that was more out of a lack of use than it was out of necessity. Melinda didn't use the computer unless she had to do some work from home, but now she was doing something entirely outside of her working world, which hadn't been the norm for... A long time. 

A few clicks took her to the blue and white homescreen of Facebook. The top bar with its little red squares of interactions, and the tiny circle that contained her image. Although it had been a good few years since she'd last logged into the long-abandoned account, it was still logged in, which was probably good considering she'd forgotten her login info. 

Bypassing any old messages, Melinda looked up the page that she was intending to comment on. Although she had some exercise equipment in the apartment, she had a few classes she took on a regular basis, to keep her training up, and this time the discount had been too good to pass up. Her gym had advertised twenty-five percent off classes to anyone who liked their Facebook page, and although she was reluctant to use social media, it was worth the effect it would have on her wallet. Clicking the little grey like button, she returned to Facebook's homepage, intent on shutting it now that she was done. A steaming cup of tea was sounding appealing, and she was about to turn off the computer when a post caught her eye. 

> _**Jeffrey Mace**  
>  _ _September 13 at 7:46 PM_
> 
> _When I was back in college, Phil Coulson was my roommate, and one of the closest friends I had. He was a great guy - always good for a laugh, never afraid to speak up, and endlessly tough. Although he had lost his mother while at school, he always took the time to help other people and put them before himself. It's been almost thirty years since those days in college, and during that time, I have kept in touch with him although we now live in different cities._
> 
> _Over the past couple of months, however, Phil's health has been deteriorating. A health condition that he has had for all his life became a problem this past April, and he has been in and out of the hospital since then. It got worse this past week as Phil had a second heart attack. He has since had to leave his job and is currently at the hospital, recovering and handling how this will impact his health. Phil might not be around much longer, and although location keeps me from being able to see him, I highly encourage everyone to stop by or send a get well card to the below address. We hope Phil's condition will improve._
> 
> _Phillip J. Coulson_  
>  _Room 616  
>  _ _1 Boston Medical Center Place_  
>  _Bostom, MA 02118_

  
__  


Below the post were photo attachments, and with fingers that shook slightly, Melinda clicked on the smaller images and they blew up wider across the screen. Photographs of a man she barely recognized as her former best friend were displayed, with him in various states of medical procedures. One photo had him unconscious in a hospital bed, with multiple cords and IVs in his arms, while another had him wearing a surgical mask, his mouth hidden but smiling with tired-looking eyes.

____

What?

____

Melinda's mind raced as she tried to piece together what must have happened in the last twenty years since she'd seen Phil. Since she'd left Boston for a far away city, desperate to get away from her past. When they'd been in school, his medical issues had been next to nothing, a footnote on the life of a great guy. A reminder that he needed to occasionally take breaks while exercising so he didn't get winded. The image of the guy who picked her up and spun her around when she passed her senior final was nothing like the image of the man who laid in a hospital bed, his skin pale with sickness and looking like he wouldn't be around for more than a few hours. 

____

Before she knew what she was doing, Melinda was on a website, looking up flights. She could just send a letter, give him a call, Melinda thought to herself. That was the sane thing to do. That was the _Melinda_ thing to do. It's what they'd done for years, back when she'd left and he kept trying to keep in touch. Distance, physical and emotional, was easier. Distance was clean. 

____

Death wasn't. And suddenly her credit card was punched into the site and she had a flight in eleven hours. 

____

Phil Coulson was dying. 

____  



	2. Chapter Two

The last time Melinda had been in a hospital was when her father fell and injured his hip. A good three years ago, and that hospital had been a tiny one in Ohio. This one in Boston was massive - and she supposed it made sense, given that it sounded like Phil’s illness had gotten serious and he needed this kind of care. A lump formed in her throat at the thought - just how bad would it be? How much longer did he have?

Banishing those thoughts from her head, she strode down the halls with confidence, giving a nurse her information and getting a visitor ID. She wasn’t Phil’s family -  _ or at least, she hadn’t been for a long time _ \- but he was stable enough to get visits from other people. Considering he had no living relatives left, that was definitely a good thing, but Melinda felt a twinge of fear. Would she even be welcomed to see him? Would he want to have her around? It had been… Over twenty years, if she had her totals correct. And she did. Twenty-three years, four months, and sixteen days since she’d left Boston for somewhere new. Somewhere she didn’t get a thousand sympathetic looks a day. 

That had been when she left, but Phil had tried to stay in touch with her for a couple of months after. He was nothing if not persistent, and he’d called every week. Had told her about his girlfriend, his wonderful new job, and how he’d meet their old friends for drinks and they all talked about how much they  _ missed _ her and how  _ painful _ her divorce sounded. 

It wasn’t painful if you were numb.

Trailing by different rooms in the hospital, she was nearly knocked over by a child running through the halls and darting into a room, shouting “Daddy, daddy!”.

Curiosity getting the better of her, Melinda peered in as she passed the room and saw a man in a hospital bed, the kid jumping on top of him, making him grimace in pain but hide it. His head was covered in bandages and he looked… Confused, if happy. A deck of cards with colorful pictures were spread across his lap.

“May I help you?” The woman at his side asked. 

For a moment, Melinda didn’t speak, knowing she’d intruded on a family who, it seemed, were recovering from a medical emergency of some kind. “I’m looking for room six-one-six.” She said, glancing up at the number. Five-three-four. Brain damage and care. She was definitely on the wrong floor, and she knew it, but she couldn’t keep herself from pausing at the door and looking at the man, imagining Phil like that. It was… Impossible to picture, if she was honest. Phil Coulson, wrapped up in a hospital gown? She’d seen the pictures, but she just couldn’t. The man in front of her was so far removed from him that it seemed ridiculous. 

“I think it’s to the left.” The woman said, giving her a soft smile. “I got lost my first few times here. Glenn is still figuring his way around too.” She said, squeezing her husband’s hand. The man finally looked up at Melinda with slightly glazed eyes. 

“H-hello.” He said, his voice unsteady, unsure. Sounding vaguely southern. Melinda’s hand went up in an awkward half wave, before she nearly bolted away to try and find Phil’s room. All these patients, all the sickness… It was just a bright, glaring reminder of the career path she’d left. Were it not for Phil’s presence in the hospital, she would probably have ran off by this point. Instead, she trudged through the halls of the place, finding a set of stairs and making her way up a floor to find him. 

Her stomach did flips and cartwheels as she decided whether she should go into the room or bolt and decided against this entire endeavor. Room six-one-six stared back at her with its thick white lettering and, taking a deep breath and calling to mind the wall of ice she’d held in place since the last time she’d seen him, she entered the hospital room.

Unsure what she was expecting, the image in front of her was… Not that. Melinda hadn’t thought too much about what Phil’s situation would be when she hopped on that plane, but this wasn’t it. Her old friend was sitting up in bed, propped up by multiple pillows, with a few wires connecting him to machines that beeped irregularly. A hospital gown covered his shoulders and new lines crossed his face - smile lines and crows feet and the tell-tale signs of age. At thirty years old, he’d had a slightly silly quaff of hair she hadn’t cared for and had teased him about - now it was thinner, lighter, and starting to push back against his scalp, revealing more of his forehead. The eyes were the same though - blue with a hint of green. 

He wasn’t looking at her, thank god, too distracted by the girl in front of him. They were playing cards, Melinda realized, and she studied the girl - mid 20s, if Melinda had to guess, and far too thin. “Do you have any threes?” She asked, looking up at Phil with a sardonic smirk crossing her cheeks.

Throwing down his cards in annoyance, Phil said, “Daisy, we’re playing Hearts!” He said, frustration and yet affection evident in his voice. Melinda smiled, leaning against the doorframe as the two bickered. It was clear that Phil and this girl - Daisy, based on their conversation - had a strong friendship and she didn’t want to interrupt that. A pang of guilt settled into Melinda’s stomach as she thought of how  _ she _ should have been here, keeping a strong friendship to get him through this. He was sick and he needed people, and where had she been? Shutting herself off from the world and from him because of what had happened to her. 

So lost in her guilty conscience - and the little voice in her head that sounded so much like Phil himself, telling her it wasn’t her fault - Melinda didn’t notice that the room had gone quiet, its two inhabitants no longer playing cards as they watched her. Startling like a deer caught in headlights, Melinda knew without a doubt from the look on Phil’s face that she was the last person he’d expected to see in his hospital room.

“Hey, Mel.” He said softly. And with those words, it was like twenty years of distance had dissipated and she was once again the woman who had just gone through a divorce and needed a place to crash for the night. 

Daisy looked at Phil, her eyebrows practically at her hairline as she tried to figure out how they knew each other. “Daisy, would you mind getting me a coffee?” Phil asked, cutting through the tension in the room like a knife. Daisy stood from her perch on the edge of Phil’s bed, her hand cocked on her hip.

“The doctor said you need to cut down on your caffeine intake. One cup a day.”

Sighing dramatically, Phil nodded. If this girl monitored Phil’s caffeine addiction, then Melinda already liked her. “Fine, hot chocolate.” He said. Daisy nodded, leaving the room, but not before giving Melinda a significant glance. A  _ you hurt him and I’ll crush you _ glance. 

Tentatively, Melinda crossed the room, sitting on the short bench next to Phil’s hospital bed. He sat up a little bit more, and she couldn’t quite manage to cut back the little noise in the back of her throat. When they’d been in school together, he’d had muscle, weight to himself. He wasn’t any kind of bodybuilder or fitness nut, but he’d played basketball and he had had thick arms, wide shoulders. The body of someone who cared about their health but didn’t rush to the gym constantly. She’d enjoyed working out, often dragging him to the gym with her, and he would exaggerate his exhaustion or inability to exercise, mostly just to pester her or get her to smile. His heart condition had been, if anything, a minor setback - he’d had to keep track of it and sometimes he would worry about breaks, but it wasn’t anything they’d really need to worry about.

That physique had melted away.

Now, Phil’s shoulders were thinner, a little bit more defined by age and bone than by muscle or fat. His chest was still wide, but that meant it looked stretched - he clearly needed to put on weight. Laugh lines on his eyes hid the dark circles of exhaustion beneath them. In short, he looked like shit. “Hey.” He said, his voice soft and sending Melinda careening back to those days where they’d known each other so well. Days where she’d find a boyfriend for maybe two weeks and get sick of them but if she didn’t see Phil for over three days, she’d become cranky. When they were best friends. 

Unsure how to respond, she gave him a tight smile, trying to coax herself into talking. Into asking about his condition. The reason she’d come here in the first place. She needed to talk about this, not to avoid it, even when death was such a hard topic. And yet - “So, who’s that?” She asked. 

Small talk. Melinda’s worst enemy. 

“That was Daisy.” Phil said, looking a bit wary of Melinda but happy, if she was reading him right. She didn’t blame him - she hadn’t seen him in years and she’d given him no reason to believe she cared in that time, even if she’d never stopped caring. That, in fact, was part of the problem. “She was one of my students.”

Back when Melinda had known him after college, he’d been flitting in between jobs, substitute work here and tutoring there. It was good that it sounded like he’d done something more serious, and she could picture it now - Professor Coulson, the dork who showed students Captain America movies and propaganda but was also encouraging, warm, sweet. “Yeah? I bet she was one of your best students.”

That seemed to surprise a laugh out of Phil, and Melinda nearly laughed along with him. It was easy to fall into comfort alongside her old best friend. He shook his head, smiling. “Oh god, no. Daisy was my  _ worst _ student. She had to take my class for a gen ed and was failing pretty badly.” He said with a fond smile. It was clear to Melinda that she was a lot more than a student to him. “She was a computer engineering major and was terrified of flunking, came to me one day just hoping to study but ended up pouring out her heart to me. She’d finally left a pretty terrible boyfriend and was panicking about where to stay since she couldn’t stay at their place, about being able to get money, basically everything on top of the grades. I remembered a grad student of mine was looking for a roommate and helped her with that, and got her a job with the library updating their hilariously out-of-date files.” Phil smiled at the door, where Daisy had left. “She’s basically been glued to my side ever since.” It was clear that the feeling was mutual and Melinda felt both a spike of jealousy and of warmth towards the girl. She missed being the focus of all of Phil’s kindness and encouragement, but she was grateful _ someone _ was. 

“You really haven’t changed, have you?” Melinda asked, and it was just a small comment, but it sent Phil’s expression morphing from his happy look of memories to a sad smile. 

“I haven’t. But you did.” He said softly. “We both know you’re not here to ask about my former student. You came all this way from…” He wracked his brain for a moment and Melinda shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “Last I heard you were visiting your dad?”

She let out a soft snort, recalling the time she’d spent caring for her father a few years back and reminding him to exercise, and how he’d tried to convince her to stay in the area. Melinda had drifted around quite a bit after what happened, but she’d landed in Philadelphia. A two hour drive from her mother meant Lian didn’t complain too much about the lack of visits, but she didn’t have to deal with her mother’s censure. “Philadelphia. Good strawberry festivals.” She commented, her smile quick and tight. They’d visited one together a few years back and it was one of her fondest memories, although she couldn’t bring herself to go to one now” Phil leaned back onto the pillow, smiling before a pained look crossed his face, and Melinda found herself fearful, her eyes searching for a moment for a call button. 

“You were just a couple hours away.” He said after a beat. The question was on the tip of her tongue -  _ did you ever want to come see me? _ But it was better that she didn’t ask. Better that she didn’t dream about how he could have spent time with her while she hid.

His eyes blinked open after a second and even though energy sparked in his blue eyes, she could recognize that it hurt. “You in pain?” She asked, and without her mind’s consent, placed a hand on his chest.

Phil’s own hand rested on top of hers, and he felt his warm palm, slightly rough, against the back of her hand. His fingers curled around hers, eyes never leaving her own. “Not always.” He said, his voice having dropped to a slightly low whisper. “Is that why you’re here? To get in your goodbyes?” 

The comment had the same kind of bite that Phil’s usually did, although it didn’t hold as much energy as she was used to. She snatched her hand away, although leaving the warmth of his was like entering a bitter winter. “I -” She cut herself off, biting down on her lip. “I saw Jeffrey’s post. I can’t believe that - and I didn’t know -” She looked at him, trying to convey her feelings. “I’m not good at this.”

The harsh bark of laughter grated at her ears, such a contrast to his laughter about Daisy. “Not good at telling me how you feel, or not good at people dying?” Melinda’s flinch at his final words had his eyes softening. “I’ve missed you. I’m sorry about everything.”

Rubbing her hands over her eyes and willing herself not to tear up, Melinda shook her head. “I came here to try and help  _ you _ , to do something for  _ you _ . Stop trying to take care of everyone else when you’re…” She drifted off, gesturing to him, to the various machines hooked up to him. She’d been in the medical field, if not a doctor or nurse, and she had she been in a different state of mind she might’ve been able to diagnose what quite a few of his machines were, what they did. But right now it was just a steady  _ beep _ that reminded her of Phil’s quickly failing heart. “I don’t know why I’m here. I just saw the message and I needed to be here for you.” 

Her eyes avoided his, and there was a long pause where he didn’t speak and neither did she. Normal for Melinda, always quiet, but not so much for Phil. Normally he spoke to fill up silence and make it bearable, but it seemed age had made that particular quality calmer. “Then you should have let me be there for you, too. We could have -”

Phil was neatly cut off, as a woman entered the hospital room. Had she not been wearing a badge that said  _ Attending Cardiologist _ , Melinda might have thought she was just an intern. Hell, she still sort of thought that was possible, but it was made abruptly clear from her intelligent speech that she was brilliant if… Young. “I apologize, Mr. Coulson, I did not know you had company.” She said, in a manner all too bright for the circumstances. “Is it alright if I give you your diagnosis now, with Miss…” She trailed off, glancing from Melinda to Phil, expecting names.

“May.” Melinda said in a short tone. Phil nodded to the doctor, and she continued along in a brisk, clipped manner, her British accent causing the words to wash over Melinda without entirely making sense. There were a lot of terms that, had she been back at medical school, she might’ve recognized. But as it was, she hadn’t studied these things for years and she didn’t want to hear all of the details of explicitly how Phil was getting worse and worse.

“I’ll put the prescription into your pharmacy now, they can deliver it to your home this afternoon.” She tapped away at a tablet that seemed to have come from nowhere. “However, you’re at a very high risk, Mr. Coulson. I can still stop by your home every few days, to check how you’re doing and give you regular updates, but I’m afraid at this point that just won’t suffice.” She said, setting the tablet down and poking at one of Phil’s machines, checking that the cords attaching to various parts of his body were still operational. “You’ll need someone who can care for you and keep an eye on you in your home, so that if anything changes in your health, they can quickly alert myself or other hospital personnel. Preferably someone with some medical training, or at least First Aid certified.” 

A spark began to form in Melinda’s mind, and for just a moment, she had brushed it away, figuring it too ridiculous an idea. Too much of an imposition. “I believe we may have a few home nurses on staff, but I am unsure if your insurance will pay for that sort of expense?”

“I could do it.” Melinda blurted out. She had thought, before she spoke, that it was something she would immediately regret even suggesting. That she’d make the offer and it would feel like a mistake. But she couldn’t have been more wrong as a comfort blossomed in her chest at the thought of taking care of Phil. Of no longer sitting by and doing nothing.

The doctor - who, Melinda now read her full name tag, was named Jemma Simmons - eyed her and took up the tablet again, pulling up some information about his care needs. “Are you qualified?” She stopped and turned beet red. “I don’t mean to imply - erm - not to say, that you could not be qualified. I just meant, that, well, your friend, Phil, ah, Mr. Coulson here, needs someone who can give him the kind of care that -”

“I’m a former paramedic, Doctor Simmons.” Melinda said, interrupting the doctor’s strange ramblings and timidity that seemed to have appear. Nice to know Melinda still had the same intimidating presence while around Phil, and he didn’t soften her demeanor too much. 

Phil, between them during the entire strange discussion, tried to take Melinda’s hand and seemed to think better of it. “You would have to move back here.” He pointed out to her, as if Melinda thought that she could give him medical care from three thousand miles away. 

“I’m aware of that, Phil.” She said. “I have a couple of saved vacation days -”  _ And my job doesn’t interest me, and I have saved money, and I certainly don’t need to sort vials of fluids on a daily basis, _ “and I can make do here.”  _ But for how long? How long would he need her? _

The mousy doctor gave a reluctant nod and darted out of the room, muttering something about getting paperwork together. Melinda turned back to Phil, studying him with dark eyes as he regarded her. She wanted to berate him for all of this, and she wasn’t sure why - how could you be angry with someone for them being hurt? Why did the thought of him dying make her somehow kind of want to punch him in the face? 

She blew out a breath of frustration as it leaked away, pulled off by the desire to go to him and hold him. But, even before she’d abandoned Boston and all her friends there, she wouldn’t have hugged someone unless absolutely necessary. Now? She was determined to be as hard and cold as the machines that repeated that he was alive.  _ For now _ . “I hate to ask, but - are you sure? This is a lot, Melinda, and you have a life. Why would you disrupt that to be my babysitter?”

The floor squeaked under her boots as Melinda moved closer, a frightened animal scared of an attack, and perched on his hospital bed - comfortable, but ready to flee at a moment’s notice. She slipped her hand into his, avoiding the IV on the back of it, and said in a soft tone, “because you once put yours on hold for me. I owe you that much.”

  
  



	3. Chapter Three

How she went from avoiding any kind of physical contact with people to half-carrying her former best friend, Melinda didn’t know, but it was happening. Phil had claimed he didn’t need a wheelchair because he was an annoyingly stubborn man, but the trip from the car to his building, lobby to the elevator, and elevator to his apartment had been a clear sign that all wasn’t well. She’d gotten used to thinking Phil’s condition wasn’t so bad - sure, Jemma had said he had a finite amount of time, but science wasn’t always accurate, right?

The hospital was the perfect place. He was cared for and watched all the time, and he was given constant nutrients and fluids. This was a different story, but Phil had said, when he thought Melinda was napping, that he ‘preferred to die in his own bed’. She feigned sleep, but ‘woke’ soon after to have a good cry.

She’d learned all the basics of his condition in the last week while he’d been recovering from the heart attack - his second - and then had gone home to pick up some things for an extended stay in the city. She’d missed the exam known as an  _ Echocardiogram _ \- which, according to him, was like an ultrasound for the heart. She’d been glad to avoid it. Back when she and her ex-husband had been trying for kids, she’d dreamt of ultrasounds, of sonograms, of the milestone in fetal development. Instead, she’d just gone through an entire box of pregnancy tests with no success. 

Phil’s former student, Daisy, had dropped off some of Melinda’s things. She was grateful, since she was reluctant to leave him alone and she couldn’t help him upstairs with her bags. She gripped onto him tight, the thin blue fabric of his shirt letting her feel just how gaunt he was. His ribs were prominent beneath her palm, and his breath wheezed slightly. “That’s what you get for picking an apartment building with shitty parking.” She tried to joke, to ease the stress on them both. He wasn’t as bad as she was convinced he was, to be fair - Phil was still as mentally present as ever. But the trip was a lot, and he was getting used to returning to regular foods rather than IV nutrients. “We’re almost there.”

He huffed out a laugh, the warmth of his breath tickling her ear. “Yeah, Mel, I know where my own apartment is.” He said as they turned the corner to his room. He pulled away almost immediately, surprising her with her longing for more of his warmth. He leaned against the wall beside the door and nodded to the bag she was carrying of the few things he’d kept at the hospital. “My key should be in the outer pocket.”

Digging around, Melinda found a keyring, rolling her eyes at the Captain America shield go on it. She twisted it into the lock, opening the door to his apartment, curious how much the man had changed in the years they’d been apart.

Not much, apparently.

The apartment was a mess of papers, sheets strewn around the room and books littering every surface. She couldn’t see each individual title, but she felt sure that most of them were related to history, Captain America, or the spy novels he so favored. She shook her head, letting out a slight huff - at least she wouldn’t be bored, able to use her spare time to clean up the place. After a minute of catching his breath, Phil followed her back inside. “I was lucky Daisy was in the next room when I had the attack. Especially because I was cooking and I burnt the spaghetti.” He said, nodding at the mess left at the kitchen sink. Phil, approaching the worn couch in the center of the room, sat down. More like collapsed, but Melinda tried not to think about that as he smiled. “I wish I could give you a proper tour… Maybe later.”

Coming around behind the chair, Melinda tentatively placed a hand on his shoulder. She could feel Phil tensing beneath it slightly before relaxing. “It’s okay. I’ll do a bit of cleaning. Rest.” She said. After a moment’s hesitation, Melinda grabbed the nearest blanket, draping it around his shoulders. Jemma had said he’d be tired and need to rest from the journey, so she decided this was normal. He took the remote, though she had a feeling he’d be asleep before he’d even picked something to watch. 

Grabbing the bags Daisy had dropped off, Melinda entered the room that was set up for her. It was Phil’s spare room, which according to him was only ever used when Daisy stayed overnight to watch him, so it had seemed better than her taking the couch. It was furnished, but plain, with a large bed and a mirror against the wall. Melinda looked at herself, drawing a hand through her hair. She hadn’t had a spare minute to shower, so it was greasy and stringy, gathering in clumps. A glance out the door of her room showed Phil already dosing, so she decided to take a shower. 

The rooms were a matching set, a bathroom connecting them, so she found the bathroom full of Phil’s things - and with a handicapable shower. While that was another concerning thought, she figured it was a good thing that at least for the moment, he was able to bathe himself. There might come a time when she’d need to bathe him, and while she definitely would do it, she knew it would be more than a little bit awkward.

Dropping away clothing that desperately needed to be laundered, Melinda turned on the water and stepped under the spray, letting it wash away the feeling of hospitals and grief that coated her skin. Shampoo made her hair feel clean and fresh, and the time in the hot water helped to relax her tired muscles, so that she felt better after leaving the hot steam of the bathroom. Unpacking her things helped to relax her more, the monotonous tasks offering her a moment to not have to think too much. She wasn’t sure how long her stay would be at Phil’s, so she’d brought an assortment of clothing. Opening her last bag, she pulled out a familiar shirt and a watery smile crossed her face. It was one of his Captain America T-shirts that she’d stolen back during school. Pulling it close, she pressed her nose into it. It had long since lost the scent of him, but now surrounded by his home, maybe she could have a lot of things to cling to in case the worst happened.

Venturing back out of her new room, Melinda checked that he was still sleeping before hunting around for a drink. Getting a mug - why did Phil have a Grumpy Cat mug? - she found an electric kettle and went hunting for tea leaves. Sugary cereals and coffee filled his pantry, but tucked away was a box of tea with a few bags left. She made herself a strong cup and sat on the opposite side of the couch, her eyes mapping his face.

While asleep, Phil’s features had softened significantly, making him look more like the man she’d known so long ago. The one who reluctantly helped her pranks. The one who forced her to cram for her final because he had faith in her. The one who she’d clung to the night she left Andrew. He had the same easy smile, the same crinkling blue eyes, the same laugh. Opening up one of the many books that littered his apartment, she started reading about a russian assassins, quickly losing track of the time.

It had long grown dark by the time Melinda hit a good place to stop in the book, and she glanced up to see that it was just before eight. Looking at the still-sleeping Phil, she figured she should get something for them for dinner - and that whatever take-out she could find probably would just do more damage to his heart. Venturing into his pantry and fridge once again, she found that Daisy had done a bit of shopping and there were some salmon fillets in the fridge. Tearing a package open, she set them into a pan, trying to recall what cooking skills she could.

Cooking skills she’d never truly had.

Soon, fish skin was burning and oil was splattering onto her hands and chest, a timer beeping and Melinda swearing as she pulled the pan off the stove. “Shitshitshitshitshit.” She repeated, turning with the hot pan and bumping face-first into Phil’s chest.

The timer had woken him - as had, she suspected, the smell of burning fish - and he simply sighed dramatically. “I should have known better than to trust you to cook.” He said, taking the pan from her gingerly with an oven mitt and putting it in the sink. 

“You shouldn’t be up.” Melinda said, crossing her arms defensively, expecting a barb from him about her cooking skills. 

Grimacing at the smoking mess and touching his chest lightly, Phil spoke. “I’m feeling better. Sleep helped.” She eyed him cautiously, not trusting that he was telling her the truth, but he did at least look better - rest had cleared up some of the dark circles under his eyes, and he had familiar pink in his cheeks. “I think I can manage to cook us something that doesn’t taste like death.”

Stepping past her - possibly too close for her liking, or not close enough, she couldn’t tell - he went to his fridge and started digging through, pulling out an oven meal. She rolled her eyes - why hadn’t she seen that? It would have been much easier than trying to cook something from scratch. “Okay.” She said in a slightly defeated tone, a smile hidden just beneath it. 

Phil turned on the oven, reading the instructions before looking up at her. “You have, uh…” He made some random gestures at his chest and she looked down at her own to see that her shirt had a few tiny pinprick splatters of oil. None had gotten to her skin, luckily, but they dotted the spots just below. She looked at Phil, who blushed even harder when it was obvious he was looking at her cleavage. She rolled her eyes, turning her back to him.

“Maybe don’t ogle people when you have a heart condition.” She threw behind her shoulder as she went to her room, hearing him chuckling softly as she shut the door.

Peeling off the shirt and tossing it in the hamper, she grabbed a new one and slipped it on, smoothing the fabric of it down her shirt. She needed a minute before returning - flirting with him came with such ease, but she didn’t want to get caught up in how they had been if she was just going to lose him in a matter of months.

Figuring she could spare a few minutes, she went through the bathroom to his room, expecting to see the same mess that graced the rest of the apartment. Not as bad, though - spare socks on the bed, a tie on the dresser, nothing much out of the ordinary. She turned to leave, only to face the mirror and realize what she’d missed upon entering.

Framing her face in the mirror were cards, and they were scattered all over the table below, in every shade of pastel known to man. Some with glitter, some with script, some with flowers, all with long messages and kind words written in every available space, tucked into the mirror’s corners and sides. 

Her hands shaking, Melinda picked up a card, swallowing down the quickly-forming lump in her throat to read from a child’s sloppy handwriting. She tried to read it aloud, but nothing came out and she instead was silent as she read the message.

_ Mr. Coulson -  _

_ Dad and I miss you very much! He’s helping me write this. Miss you at basketball! Get well soon. _

_ Mike and Ace _

_ P.S. I got new action figures if you want to play some time! _

She crumbled to the ground, surrounded by the cards from all the people who loved him, each one more painful than the last. He was loved - loved by so many people. If they even felt half the grief she did… 

So much for trying not to get reattached.

**Author's Note:**

> For all who are reading, this fanfiction is likely going to not be entirely medically accurate. I am an art student who is unaware of these in-depth medical procedures, and is doing the best I can possibly do in terms of accuracy and research. If you have identified something I have gotten incorrect about medical procedures in this story, please feel free to leave a comment. I may not change the story based on your comment (in case it's a change that would greatly impact the overall story so it would need to be reworked) but if it's a minor enough issue I may change small details. Either way, any comments about the accuracy and anything else are greatly appreciated.


End file.
